


Say It

by cueonego, goobzoop



Series: Shassie Oneshots [6]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Lassie is an idiot, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, angry Lassie, enemies to handjob, goob and cueone write a fic, shawn is an idiot, sneaky shawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cueonego/pseuds/cueonego, https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: Spencer was really starting to piss Lassiter off, always managing to be one step ahead of him with that made-up psychic garbage of his.If Spencer liked to play dirty, then Lassiter was going to give him a taste of his own medicine and get him to admit every last one of his secrets.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Series: Shassie Oneshots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197524
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Say It

**Author's Note:**

> We had a blast writing this thing together. Enjoy!

“Oh, come on!” Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did they know to find us here?” He looked at his partner expectantly, but she simply shrugged his question off. Great, now he had to deal with the idiot and his goon friend.

“Get off my crime scene, Spencer,” Lassiter shouted over to him.

“Sorry, can’t do. I try not to get myself off in public places. My dad taught me that, believe it or not,” Spencer shouted back, walking up to the scene from that ridiculous blue Echo.

“Jesus, Spencer. Stop being a child and go away. You’re interfering with real police work.”

Guster started hitting Spencer on the shoulders and making side-eyes at him. He whispered something rather sternly to his face, which Lassiter could only assume was his common sense talking. At least Guster had it, but he never had the balls to follow through and make Spencer do the right thing.

Not that Spencer would ever listen to anyone.

Spencer looked back at Guster and shrugged as expected, before ducking under the yellow tape and trotting right up to him, where he was standing over a body. “Ick. Bloody,” he said, snuggling up dangerously close to his side.

“Don’t stand so near me.” Lassiter scoffed, pushing him away with his elbow. The body wasn’t _that_ bad. Maybe a little beaten up, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Ow! I’m only trying to get a good look,” Spencer said, walking back up to him while rubbing his sides. “You’re hogging the best view, Lass!”

“No, you’re not getting _any_ look. I told you not to come over here in the first place. If you don’t have one of these, you aren’t allowed back here,” he said, pointing to his badge. “Now, get your ass behind the tape and quit messing up my crime scene.”

Guster tugged at Spencer’s shirt from behind with a sour face, trying his best not to look at the body. “C’mon, Shawn, let’s go.”

“But, Gus! I didn’t even get to consult the spirits yet! And, oh!” He flung himself to the right and shot his hand in the air. “They’re getting chatty!”

Great, just what he needed. Lassiter rolled his eyes as Guster groaned and excused himself towards the back, not wanting to associate with Spencer when he was doing his act. As Spencer continued to flail around, he watched the both of them, seething with a red face and clenched fists.

Oh, he would like nothing more than to pick them up by the scruff of their necks and throw them out of there. Thinking he could come into the crime scene uninvited was one thing, but _this_ — This was the worst part about dealing with Spencer.

If he couldn’t be honest and reveal how he knew all these facts about the case, there _had_ to be something wrong with his methods. Lassiter just knew. The lying bastard didn’t have the right to make a mockery of everything he did.

It was made even more infuriating by the fact that Spencer somehow managed to beat him every time with this stupid gimmick. Lassiter didn’t like to admit it, but that was the fact. And knowing Spencer, he was doing it on purpose. He was rubbing it in his face to make him suffer even more.

“What’s that? Oh god, it’s so dark! Why is everything so dark?” Spencer staggered forward and grabbed his arm; he tried to shake him off, but his grip was ironclad.

“Alright, get your grubby hands off me!”

“They’re saying— they’re saying something! I can’t—” He pressed closed up against Lassiter’s side. “I can’t hear them, I need to— oh! There we go!”

Lassiter was itching with discomfort as Spencer nearly crawled on top of him, putting his leg around his thighs in front of a dozen other officers. “Do not touch my face!” he barked when his hands started to make their way up his chest and his neck like he was feeling him up.

Spencer paid no mind to his request. He didn’t even open his eyes as he dug his fingers into his scalp, pulling their faces close. “The— the head! No. The eyes. God, I can’t see!”

Lassiter froze when he felt Spencer’s nose touching his, their lips dangerously close to coming into contact. All he could smell was the sickly sweet scent of pineapple from Spencer’s hair product, and his face was heating up even more by the warm hands around his face.

“That’s ridiculous, Spencer,” Lassiter finally muttered, unsure of how much time had passed with the two of them pressed together. “The guy’s eyes were just fine,” he said, shoving Spencer’s face away from his line of sight.

Lassiter breathed out, finally having enough room to do so. Spencer stumbled back, but kept his eyes locked onto Lassiter’s own. He stared back at Spencer, unsure of why his remark didn’t come out as acerbic as usual. It wasn’t his first time getting his personal space invaded by Spencer, but he was still shaken from the proximity.

Lassiter cleared his throat, because he had to say something back, something that was more _normal_ before people started to take notice. He stepped forward, resting his hands on his hips and flashing his badge as he swept his jacket away. “Say, maybe I should slap you around a little bit to recalibrate your connection to the spirit world.” That was more likely.

Spencer blew a raspberry. “Your imitation tactics won’t work on me, Lassie.”

“Intimidation, Shawn,” Gus chimed in, rolling his eyes.

“Oh well.” Spencer shrugged, making his way to the bench next to the body. “I’ve heard it both ways,” he said, sitting down on the bench and kicking back as if this was his living room.

Lassiter was done with their antics. “Leave. I mean it,” he barked, grabbing onto the back of Spencer’s shirt and forcing him up. He was ready to drag him out of the scene.

“Chill, Lassie!” Spencer flailed to free himself, and knitted his brows at him once he shook away from Lassiter’s grip. “Our work here is done anyways. Let's go, Gus.”

“Yeah, right, move it along.” Lassiter scoffed.

Shawn looked back as he walked away from the scene with Gus. He saw Lassiter’s shoulders falling as he sighed out, thinking that he was gone far enough for him to miss it. Juliet seemed a little disappointed too, seeing how his psychic divination didn’t yield anything useful for them to use. But it didn’t matter. The seed was planted, and all Shawn needed to do was wait.

He settled into the passenger seat, clicking his seatbelt on and waiting for Gus to start driving. But Gus was looking at him with a frown instead.

“What?”

“What was that about, the eye?”

“All things in good time, Gus,” Shawn said assuredly. “Come on, let’s go get some shakes.”

But apparently the answer wasn’t satisfactory enough for Gus. He turned off the car and crossed his arms, while he continued to stare at him.

“Fine! We’re looking for a blind guy.” Shawn caved; he wanted his shakes.

“You’re saying a blind man did this, Shawn?”

“What? No, obviously. The guy is only pretending to be blind. Gus, this guy is a hustler,” he said, looking out the window and staring longingly at Lassiter who was poking at the body with his pen.

. . .

The first wall Lassiter hit was IDing the victim. He had no wallet and no discernible features or unique tattoos. The coroner couldn’t tell him much about the victim either from the preliminary examination, other than the fact that he was a white male. He eventually got shoved out of the morgue for hounding the coroner, being told that he will get his full findings in the report.

Even though he knew the likelihood of finding the victim in the missing person’s reports, he did his due diligence of going through the pile of reports filed for white males in his approximate age range. Of course, there was none that matched the victim; his body was a bit too fresh for anyone to have noticed him gone.

There wasn't much lead to follow up on without the coroner’s report or the victim’s ID. All he had was a John Doe with a slew of blunt force trauma.The case was headed off to a terrible start, and the last thing he needed to see was Spencer.

But Spencer, as always, had impeccable timing to make his day worse. He confidently strode up to his desk and walked around it, putting his ass down on the armrest of his chair.

“What now, Spencer,” Lassiter sighed.

“I know who your victim is.”

“And how would you know that?” he asked, lifting his head up and staring at him pointedly. There was no way Spencer knew who the vic was.

“Let me give you this instead,” Spencer said, producing a bag from his pockets. The sandwich bag, complete with breadcrumbs on the bottom, held a brown leather wallet inside. When Lassiter looked up to Spencer’s face, he rolled his eyes as if Lassiter was being unreasonable for doubting him. “It’s the guy's wallet.”

Lassiter snatched the bag out of his hand, pressing his eyes closed. Spencer better have not taken this from the body before he was there. He would have loved to shake him around a little bit, but instead, he let out a deep breath and grabbed a legal pad from his drawers, slamming it onto his desk.

“Sit,” he said, getting up from his chair and seating Spencer in it. He held onto his shoulders menacingly from behind and leaned in. “Start writing how, where, in what state you found this.”

He walked away, holding onto his first break in the case which he now had to follow up with. Besides, he didn’t want to stick around next to Spencer as he no doubt would have been gloating about his damn psychic abilities the entire time.

By the time he returned to his desk, Spencer was gone, and the notepad on his desk read:

> How: Psychically.  
>  Where: Dumpster around the corner.  
>  In what state: Covered in In-N-Out wrappers. With Animal-Style fries in between.
> 
> — Sawn Spencer, psychic detective.

God. The idiot didn’t even know how to spell his name.

. . .

“Damn it!” Lassiter slammed a stack of files down on his desk. “The witnesses are useless. None of them saw anything. And the evidence— there’s nothing here. It’s like the perp picked this guy at random.”

O’Hara looked up from her desk, with the phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. He could hear the staticy sound of generic smooth jazz over the receiver, which didn’t help much with his frustration. It was the sound of getting nothing done.

“Maybe he did,” she said. “Could be an opportunity killing. Victim was vulnerable and the perp took advantage.”

“But look at the markings,” Lassiter said, flinging the folder of pictures from the coroner. “The perp has to be at least a foot taller and much bigger. There’s no way he would have let his guard down around with this guy at that time of night, there has to be a reas—”

“Oh, hold on! Yes, hi, I’m still here!” O’Hara swiveled in her chair and focused on her phone call.

Lassiter huffed and sat down at his desk. Something about the case wasn’t adding up, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Without any additional evidence from the few witnesses and the grainy surveillance videos, he wasn’t flying by the seat of his pants with this one.

The psychic crap might look appealing initially, but it created more complication down the road. He would much rather use evidence than general intuition. With evidence, there was certainty, and in the case of the law, certainty was a must.

“So, the spirits are telling me that you guys are in a pretty tough spot these days.”

Lassier didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was freaking Spencer.

“What do you want?” He glared with tired eyes.

“I’m just here to offer my insights. On the case and on your fashion as well, Lassie,” Spencer said, picking up Lassiter’s tie and giving it a gentle tug. “You might wanna try out a slimmer tie tomorrow.”

“Okay, Spencer. You’re just a big distraction and nothing more right now,” Lassiter said, swatting away Spencer’s hand.

“No, Lassie. I’m _just_ the person you need.”

“You most certainly are not,” Lassiter grumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “Now scram.”

“Lassie, Lassie. Don’t be so blind. Maybe you just _can’t see_ what’s right in front of you.” He winked, and hopped up to sit on his desk, his ass crinkling the stack of paperwork underneath it.

“Dammit, Spencer!”

Spencer hopped back down; Lassiter was at the point of turning red and if Spencer didn’t leave soon he didn’t know what he was going to do.

“Whoa, chill, Lassie. All this _blind_ rage is not good for you.” Spencer laughed. “Oops, I _didn’t see_ your papers there,” he continued, cheekily emphasizing his words in odd places.

Lassiter grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back against the desk, messing up his papers even more. But it didn’t matter, because that was his limit. “What’s with all the blind crap, Spencer? What are you playing at?”

Spencer raised his brows and pouted his lips, playing innocent like he was a true psychic. “Huh, I didn’t even notice. It’s probably the Spirits talking through me. You know, I’m just a vessel for their secrets.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes and knotted his hand even tighter into Spencer’s shirt. If a button were to pop off, Spencer would deserve it. He had no right to come in and hinder a police investigation with his nonsensical charade.

“You better talk before I make you regret coming in here, Spencer.”

“Carlton…?” O’Hara called out from behind him.

“What?” he barked. He didn’t turn away from Spencer who was still smirking, not even inches from his face. He could feel his anger bubbling under the surface. He just wanted to grab Spencer so hard—

“I’ve got something,” she said. “Uh… I called around about Shawn's tip. Turns out there’s a regular scam artist that frequents the boardwalk. And listen to this—he pretends to be blind.”

_Blind?_

Lassiter huffed and narrowed his eyes at Spencer. “How did you know that?”

Spencer was wiggling underneath him, eyes shifting and looking very uncomfortable. Unfortunately for him, that only gave him more satisfaction. Spencer was going to spill how he always ended up with these inside information even if he had to rip it out of him.

“Uhhhh. Lass, that’s a little tight, don’t you think?”

Lassiter squeezed his knuckles against Spencer’s throat, but O’Hara came up beside him and tapped him on his shoulders. “Carlton, come on. We have to go.” He looked over at her and some of the anger dissipated. At least they were going to catch that son of a—

“Yeah, let’s go, Lassie.” Spencer smirked.

Lassiter shoved him back further onto the desk and sent him scrambling about; messing up his workspace was well worth seeing Spencer flail helplessly around. “You two idiots stay here.” He shot pointed looks at Spencer and, of course, Guster, who was lingering near O’Hara’s desk with McNab. “McNab! Make sure these idiots stay there.”

. . .

“That was a really good tip, Carlton,” O’Hara said, stealing glances at him from the passenger seat.

Once again, Spencer was right. The perp started running once Lassiter noticed him, and when he slammed him into the ground, he started screaming about how the entire thing was an accident and he was so sorry. As if that was going to change things, Lassiter thought. Murder was still murder, and there was no excuse to bludgeon someone to death with their cane, all the while pretending to be someone who he wasn’t.

Just like Spencer, who pretended to be a damn psychic. Once the high of making the arrest subsided, Lassiter couldn’t help but wonder how Spencer knew who to look for. The spirits and psychic crap my ass. He _knew_ there was something that he was missing, and it was pissing him off even more seeing Spencer—a dumbass idiot who didn't even have police training—notice all those things when he couldn’t.

“Come on, Carlton. We made the arrest. That’s a good thing, right?” O’Hara asked again.

“What am I going to write in my reports? That a little psychic told me who to arrest? O’Hara, this is no way to run a police station.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing. Just leaving out the psychic stuff. At least I’ve written him down as a witness or someone with a tip. It makes no difference, Carlton. One more bad guy off the streets.”

“ _I_ know, O’Hara. _I_ know the difference,” Lassiter said, turning his car into the station lot.

Of course, the entrance to the station was occupied by Spencer and Guster loitering around the steps. Great. Now he was going to have to go through Spencer gloating and rubbing it into his face just to get inside.

“Lassie! Look who you brought. This is _exactly_ the guy that I saw in my visions,” he said in his mockingly cheerful tone.

Lassiter shoved him as he walked past. “Get lost, Spencer.”

“Yeah, Shawn. It’s all paperwork and processing from here, so you guys can go home,” O’Hara said after looking at the scowl on Lassiter’s face. “I’ll ask the chief to send the check out to you guys once we have the reports in.”

Spencer looked up as if he was weighing the options, before waving his hand dismissively. “Nah, we can hang around. I don’t have much to do back in the psych office because our cable is cut again,” Spencer said as he trailed behind Lassiter and O’Hara into the station.

“And whose fault is that, Shawn?” Guster chimed in, following Spencer into the station.

“I thought _you_ were paying the bills!”

“I can’t pay the bills if you keep on spending our checks on a pinball machine, Shawn.”

“But they’re dope, and you’re not going to make me return it.”

“I couldn’t make you do anything even if I tried.” Guster side eyed him, stopping before Lasssiter’s desk where everyone else had arrived.

By this point, O’Hara had handed the perp off to one of the uniforms for processing, so the case was essentially closed. Lassiter tried his best not to listen to any of their meaningless yapping, but they were still going at it in front of his desk, depriving him of his much needed silence.

Lassiter ran a hand through his hair and slammed down his keys on his desk. “What the hell are you two still doing here? I told you to beat it, not follow me in here.”

“I can’t leave yet, Lassifrass! You still look like you need some help. Or unfinished business?” Spencer said, putting his fingers to his temples. “I’m still getting major vibrations.”

“Yeah, right. The case is over. You’re not needed anymore.” Lassiter scowled. “Or ever, for that matter.”

“Yeah? Because it looked like my spirits led right to your arrest.” Spencer smirked.

“That’s it.” Lassiter was fuming. He stood up from his chair so fast it went skidding back and hit the file cabinets behind him. “I have had enough with your incessant babbling and your so-called mystic bullshit.”

Spencer stared at him like a deer in headlights and stumbled as he backed up.

“Enough pretending. _You_ are going to tell me right now how you did it, because there’s no way in hell you are a damn psychic.”

“Woah, Lass… take it easy.” Spencer laughed breathily. He seemed unsure of himself for once. Lassiter loved it.

He backed him up to the other side of the wall just outside of the file room. O’Hara and Guster were watching him but he couldn’t give a rat’s ass. If anything, they knew he had it coming. He had Spencer right where he wanted him, and that pseudo-psychic was going to give up his act whether he liked it or not.

Seeing Spencer back up, stumbling as he tripped on his own steps, that was exactly what Lassiter needed. That cocky smile was gone from his now nervous face, and Spencer had nowhere else to go. His heart was thumping and blood was pumping through his veins, having cornered him without any means of escape. Spencer was sweating and his body heat was radiating like a space heater in front of him, just like how a guilty man would be under his glare. He grabbed his wrist and slammed it to the side, right next to his head.

But then Spencer grinned.

“What are you smiling about, smartass?” Lassiter scowled. Spencer’s brows furrowed as Lassiter’s grip tightened, his mouth parting as he let out a quiet gasp.

“Do you want to take this somewhere private?” Spencer asked, loud only enough for him to hear. “I don’t mean to kill the vibe, but we have a lot of eyes on us right now.”

Lassiter followed Spencer’s eyes towards O’Hara and Guster, and numerous other officers staring at them for the commotion.

“You don’t know what I’d do to you without all these people as witnesses.” Lassiter growled through his gritted teeth.

“Mmh,” Spencer moaned. “But you can make me tell you how I did it. Just for you, Lassie.”

He knew Spencer liked to flirt with any living, breathing thing, but the bastard was… _purring_ at him?

“Shut up, Spencer.” Lassiter reached to the side and threw the door to the file room open with his free hand, while pushingSpencer in with the other. He cast a hard look at the officers looking at him and put on his signature scowl made for intimidation. “Everyone get back to work!”

He slammed the door shut behind him, drowning out the murmurs from outside. He was really going to show this punk whose station this was.

“You seem awfully tense, Lass. I’m thinking you need a nice bubble bath. Some scented candles, maybe a glass of wine? You seem like a Red kinda guy, am I—”

Lassiter came in close to Spencer once again and he instantly went quiet. More times than he could count, people have told him that he could get unnervingly intimidating when hounding a suspect, and that’s exactly what he intended to do with Spencer. There was zero chance of him leaving this room without admitting he had no psychic abilities.

“Cut the crap,” Lassiter hissed. “And start talking. I know you’re not psychic.”

Spencer gulped; every movement he made was pronounced with his face so close so Lassiter’s. “I can’t help the gift—”

“I’ve had enough of your silly play-acting and the ridiculous shows you put on for attention. You may fool everyone else in the station with that boyish charm, but it doesn’t work on me.”

Spencer audibly gasped, putting on another one of his mockingly fake displays. Then he grinned from ear to ear, leaned in closer to him, and whispered, “You think I have boyish charm?”

Was he actually flirting with him? Lassiter could feel his breath hot against his neck, but if Spencer thought he could get out of this situation by flirting with him, he was dead wrong.

“I think you’re a liar. A lazy, immature, liar,” Lassiter said, grabbing his shirt and pushing him back further into the room.

“Hey, I get the answers we need, Lassie!” Shawn laughed nervously. “We always put them away at the end of it. No harm, no foul.”

“No, _I_ put them away after cleaning up _your_ mess. After going through the proper channels and filling out the mountains of paperwork that _you_ cause. You have no idea how much of a mess you make, Spencer.” He came in closer, making Spencer back up flush against a small table in the corner of the room. “You just waltz back to your phony little office. You have no idea about that the responsibilities that real detectives have.”

Spencer cleared his throat; his hands were gripping at the edge of the table and his eyes plastered to the floor. If Lassiter were a gullible man, he’d think Spencer looked scared.

But Spencer wasn’t scared, and Lassiter wasn’t gullible.

Spencer's eyes came back up to meet his and they were twinkling with mischief. “You know, I might have to call the spirits off if you keep barking at me like this. I’m starting to get all hot and bothered with you going all physical with me.”

“That’s it.” Lassiter grabbed his shoulder and spun him around and slammed him face down onto the surface before he could protest. He grabbed Spencer’s wrists and twisted his arms onto his back, grinning when it felt exactly like how he imagined it would feel to arrest Spencer. The bastard was _whimpering_ under his grip.

“Oh, what’s that? No snarky retort? No ghosts with a message for me?” Lassiter taunted.

“Ow, god, Lassie.” Spencer squirmed, his voice straining when he couldn’t escape from under him. “This is excessive use of force.”

“Yes it is, and you better talk before it gets more brutal. How did you do it?”

Spencer continued to squirm fruitlessly under his grip. “Do what?”

“You’re insufferable,“ Lassiter hissed. “Admit that you’re not a psychic.”

“God. Lassie, is this how you treat all of your suspects? Because it’s not very nice.”

“Stop changing the topic, Spencer.”

“If it’s just me, then we’re going to have to talk about preferential treatment of your favorite people.”

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that you are my favorite, but I am sick of your lies, Spencer,” Lassiter growled, his grip tightening as he further drove Spencer into the table.

. . .

Jeez, it was starting to hurt. For real. Shawn felt the cold metal of the table smushed against his cheek, and while it wasn’t that uncomfortable, it was a stark contrast to the heat of Lassiter’s body behind him. Lassiter wasn’t feeling skittish about the fact that their bodies were touching so close to each other.

“Hey, hey— let‘s clear this out face to face, Lassie,” Shawn managed with his lips squished out to the side. “I’m not a suspect, am I? I still have my rights!”

“Only if you promise to talk,” Lassiter said from behind him, the anger still present in his voice.

“Yes— I will, Lassie. I will tell you everything,” Shawn said with haste.

With a grunt, Lassiter flipped Shawn over onto his back. He could have used more care, but Lassiter didn’t hide his disdain, slamming Shawn onto the table so hard that the table gave out from under and creaked away. He grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards his face, his signature glare unwavering. The fistful of shirt was more than enough to hike his shirt up, exposing his midriff bare.

If Lassiter thought that seeing his face was going to make him more afraid, he was dead wrong. In fact, Shawn was a little bit distracted. God, Lassiter was standing right between his legs, leaning in so that the tip of his tie was hovering over Shawn’s exposed stomach. It was starting to tickle a little bit, and if he were standing _just_ an inch closer, Lassiter’s crotch would have lined up perfectly with his.

That was a pretty major distraction at the moment.

“Come on, Spencer. Say it,” Lassiter demanded again.

But Shawn couldn’t answer—first off, he had forgotten what the hell Lassiter was asking about, and second, he was trying his best to ignore Lassiter’s tie, legs, hands, and just about everything that was happening around him. Shawn loved pushing Lassiter’s buttons—the thrill of figuring out how far he could push him before he went off was the best part. And well, it looked like he found the limit today, and it was way better than what he imagined.

Even though he made his life’s work to hate on stuffy authority figures, he found this version of Lassiter immensely hot, _really_ letting his restraints go and handling him like this. He had no right to blame him after touching him and grabbing at him all over with those strong hands. God, he was feeling tingly like he was about to get a massive—

“Lassie, your tie—” Shawn blurted out when Lassiter shook him again by his collar.

“What? You wanna offer more fashion advice?”

“No, it’s just—”

Shawn went silent again, staring at Lassiter’s face. He probably looked stupid, spaced-out from going through, ahem, certain feelings happening at a certain body part, but he was sure his face was turning into a full-blown smirk right about now.

Before Lassiter could understand his plan, he wrapped his legs around the back of Lassiter’s thighs and pulled him in towards him. Shawn was going to make sure Lassiter knew what he _really_ wanted from him.

With that, Lassiter stumbled forward, his grip on his collar loosening so he could brace himself against the table with his hands. Lassiter’s hands slammed on the table from the force, and he looked surprised as hell—more surprised when he looked down to where their hips were joined, and saw what was happening inside Shawn’s pants. He was finally beginning to get what was up. Ha, up.

“I see what you’re doing now,” Lassiter uttered, looking back up to Shawn’s face. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?” he asked, and without waiting for Shawn’s reply, he moved his hand down to grab Shawn’s cock over his pants.

Oh.

It wasn’t quite the reaction that Shawn was hoping for, but to be honest, he hadn’t thought about any of it this far.

“Hey! Wow, Lassie, what are you—”

“Is the psychic suddenly at loss?” Lassiter tauned when Shawn faltered, laying back breathless with his mouth hanging open and his eyes frantic. He pressed his hand down further enough to feel Shawn’s hardness under his jeans and said, “I thought you would already know the answer to that.”

“How could I know you’d suddenly play my game,” he said, with a touch of anxious energy seeping through his voice while he glanced down at Lassiter’s hand. “I’m not—”

“—Psychic?” Lassiter leaned forward.

“I was going to say a _mindreader_.” Shawn laughed breathlessly. He was knocked off from his game, but he had plenty of chances to recover. “Actually, my psychic senses are tingling also most as much as my—”

“Can you, even for a second, turn off whatever that makes you so damn cocky, Spencer?” Lassiter groaned.

“Off? No. Actually I’m quite turned on. And cocky? Yeah, that’s a very close guess.”

Shawn couldn’t hide his smirk, and wasn’t planning on it either.

“How about you squeeze it out of me, Lass?”

. . .

Spencer was getting off on this; he was enjoying the fact that he was manhandling him like a suspect. And if Spencer was going to play that game, Lassiter was more than happy to use it to his advantage to get what he truly wanted out of Spencer.

“I swear to god Spencer, you’re going to regret this,” Lassiter said, loosening his tie and popping the top button with his free hand.

His heart was racing with anger, frustration, but also excitement, as he pried Spencer’s hand off the edge of the table and slammed it up above his head, pinning it there with his weight. Spencer looked positively terrified, but he was biting his lower lip like the teasing bastard that he was. How much of that was acting and how much of it was real, it didn’t matter. “Don’t move a muscle.”

He let go of the grip on his wrist momentarily to pin the other above his head as well; Spencer flinched like he was about to make some sort of escape, but one glare in his direction had him melting back on the table, eyes glossy and his mouth sucking in a sharp gasp. That’s what he thought. Spencer _wanted_ to be put in his place.

“Squeeze it out of you, huh? Is that really what you want, Spencer?”

Spencer was still thinking that he had the luxury to crack jokes. “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said with a smirk, and pushed his hips closer into Lassiter’s hand.

“For once in your pathetic life, you’re going to be serious,” Lassiter said. “No more cute little remarks, no more bullshit. You’re going to be answering in yes or no from now on. Understand?”

“But—”

“Yes, or no,” Lassiter growled, the grip on his cock getting firmer.

“Aah— yes, okay! Okay.”

“We’ll start easy,” Lassiter grinned from the excitement. Seeing Spencer helplessly obedient was just what he wanted to see. “Did you go through my files?”

“No.”

“Are you telling the truth?” Lassiter asked sternly, knowing Spencer could fake a polygraph result.

“Yes,” Spencer said breathlessly, the fear and arousal mixing together and creating something so _so_ hot.

“Good,” Lassiter said, and loosened his grip on his cock. “You better be telling the truth from now on, Spencer.”

Spencer nodded in silence, finally letting out the breath that he was holding onto. He continued to keep his head lifted up from the table so he could look down on Lassiter’s hand.

“Did you hound O’Hara about the case?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Lassiter moved his hand away, causing Spencer to let out a needy gasp. But when he moved onto popping the button of his jeans, Spencer’s breath was trembling.

“Did you ask the coroner about the wounds?”

“No,” Spencer whispered, his eyes fixed on Lassiter’s hand.

He pulled the zipper down as a reward, dragging his knuckles slowly over the fabric of his boxers. Spencer shivered, finally letting his head fall down onto the table. His Adam's Apple was bobbing as he gulped, feeling Lassiter’s hands one layer closer to his cock.

“Did you break into the evidence room?”

“No, no, I didn’t, Lassie— please.”

“Please?” Lassiter asked, raising his brows even though he knew what Spencer was asking for.

“Please, please, I’ll tell you everything.” Spencer panted, whining as if what Lassiter was doing was torturous. “Can we move this along faster?”

“Okay,” Lassiter scoffed as he pulled out Spencer’s cock from his boxers. “Let’s see if you can handle this.”

It looked as if Spencer was ready to confess to everything that he’s ever done. He looked utterly undone, splayed over the table with his hands held together above his head with Lassiter’s grip, and with his cock red and leaking in his hand. Spencer was a mess.

“What do you want to know?” Spencer asked, letting out a quiet moan, ready to spill his secrets for a tug on his cock.

“How did you know that the perp was pretending to be a blind guy?”

“He— he— there were marks. Like a cane, long and thin,” he choked out.

Lassiter watched as he squirmed underneath him, completely at his mercy. Just once, he was in charge and Spencer was going to comply one hundred and ten percent—no jokes, no loopholes, just sheer transparency. He moved his hand up and down Spencer’s cock, now red and pulsing.

“Oh, fuck! Lass!”

“Settle down, Spencer, Jesus,” Lassiter chided, but he didn’t slow his motions; he kept on pumping his cock, firm and steady. “Is that it?” He asked flatly, as if it wasn’t affecting him. But god, Lassiter was getting a kick out of controlling Spencer like this.

Spencer shuddered when he stroked over his tip, squeezing the precome out of his cock. “I— I— No. That’s not nearly enough to go on,” Spencer replied hurriedly, but Lassiter wasn’t going to give him the chance to finish his whining. He let go of the grip on his wrists, and with the hand on Spencer's cock he squeezed, and the other he slapped across Spencer’s cheek with a _crack._

“Ah! Ow, L-Lass!” Spencer shouted, his eyes opening wide in shock. A red flush was blooming on his cheek, mixing with the rest of the flush on his face. He had to say that it was a good look on him.

“I said yes,” Lassiter hissed. “Or no. I don’t want to hear your blabbering unless I ask for an explanation.”

Spencer nodded jerkily with his mouth shut, just as he should, so Lassiter loosened his grip on his cock and gave it another stroke. More precome was beading at his tip—that little slut was getting off on it, getting wet like he needed it so bad. Who would have thought cocky Shawn Spencer had a weak spot for authority?

Hell, Lassiter could do authority; he lived and breathed it.

Lassiter cracked his neck before leaning in closer to his face. Spencer whimpered when he laid out his order: “And you’re not to move your hands from above your head, are we clear?”

Spencer gulped and answered. “Yes.” His eyes were glazed over; it seemed like he was ready to fall utterly under Lassiter’s control. God, Lassiter was deriving so much pleasure out of seeing him so quiet and truthful. He was following his command like a good, obedient boy.

“Go ahead and tell me what else,” he instructed him.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered close and his brows furrowed like he was focusing on retrieving his memories. “Sunglasses,” he whispered, as if he had finally found what he was looking for, and opened his eyes to continue his recounting. “From the perp. And the vic was missing a wallet, ooh-”

“We never found any sunglasses,” Lassiter said. He watched Spencer’s cheeks redden and felt a tight knot in his stomach. “Were you withholding evidence?”

“No,” Shawn muttered meekly, and he was avoiding his eyes. “It just slipped my mind.”

“Personal effects from a Vic slipped your mind? Slipped where? Into your pocket?”

Spencer squirmed uncomfortably in his grip looking more earnest and guilty than he’s ever seen. “Sorry,” he choked out.

“And then what did you do?”

“I… put the pieces together.”

“Oh you did, hmm?” Lassiter stormed Spencer harder, faster, tighter. He spit down on his cock and his hand slid wetter and easier, and Spencer was moaning deliriously. Lassiter could tell that he was close, just by the sound of his breath.

“Lass, please. I need to cum,” he begged, but Lassiter ignored him. He wasn’t quite done with Spencer yet.

“Put them together how? Psychically?”

“No, Lassie. No, okay?” He bucked his hips and whined, his face red and his thighs shaking. “Please, I need to cum, I need—”

“Not until you say it,” Lassiter growled. No matter how good Spencer looked pleading for his release, Lassiter wasn’t going to let him come until he admitted the fact.

“Please, Lass, _please!_ ” he begged more, pathetically and desperately.

Lassiter moved his hand faster and gripped his cock tighter, knowing it will drive Spencer to do as he was told. “Say. It.”

“Mmnh—” Spencer groaned, biting his lips down. He was hesitating, but his resolve was breaking down as his need to come overcame his need to keep up his psychic charade in front of him. “I’m not a psychic! Okay?” he blurted out. He was chanting it over and over, leaving no room for doubt. “I’m not, I’m not a psychic, never have been. So please, please, please let me come,” Spencer gasped.

Lassiter smirked in satisfaction as he took in the image of Spencer sprawled out on the table, open and honest as he’s ever been with his pants and his underwear pooling around his ankles, and the bottom of his shirt wet from his precome and Lassiter’s spit. He was _begging_ for his release, completely at Lassiter’s mercy; it was the most terrifying and hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Go on, then,” he said, moving his hand faster over Spencer’s cock.

“God, thank you. Thank you-thankyouthankyou” Spencer babbled as he moved his hips along with Lassiter’s hand, and he was coming, gasping and dirtying his shirt even more with his come. He shuddered and fell limp on the table, his dirty little secret out in the world.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Spencer?” Lassiter grinned with satisfaction.

“Jesus, Lassie,” Spencer breathed out, his breath still rough. “You knew that I wasn’t a psychic.”

“Yeah, so?” Lassiter said. “I know you were leading me on all week on purpose.”

Spencer grinned. “Who’s the psychic now?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️


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